


Drag Queens and Psychics and Strippers, Oh My!

by slashscribe



Category: NCIS
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashscribe/pseuds/slashscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony comes up with a PLAN when he develops a certain obsession with a certain Probie who he's pretty sure is both a stripper and a psychic.  There are also some Serious Conversations amidst the silliness and, well, who exactly is the drag queen here? (spoilers for 9x02 and 9x03)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drag Queens and Psychics and Strippers, Oh My!

Tony had a _plan_.  
   
He let a couple of days go by before he cornered Tim so that the timing wasn’t suspicious, but he was quite sure that Tim caught him staring every day nonetheless.  The first time, he’d just casually looked away like he _hadn’t_ been staring speculatively at Tim with a furrowed brow and over-the-top thoughtful expression on his face, and hoped that Tim bought it.  The second time, he was thinking so much while staring at Tim that he hadn’t even noticed that Tim had been staring back until Tim finally gave him a look that very clearly said, “What the _fuck_ is your problem?” and Tony couldn't do anything but smile and he definitely did _not_ nervously giggle as he turned back to his computer.  
   
The third and fourth times it happened Tim just looked at him – and it wasn’t a look of annoyance or frustration or anger, it was just a sort of bored and resigned look, as if it _wasn’t_ strange for Tony to be staring at him, and this got Tony even more wound up, so he made preparations and shortened his waiting time.  
   
He’d wanted to give it at least two weeks so that it didn’t seem like he was obsessing over it, but he couldn’t help it.  So finally, on Friday, he followed Tim to the vending machine in the break room and casually leaned against the side as he punched the top of the machine, grinning at Tim and not taking his eyes away from his.  He raised his brow in challenge when a chocolate bar dropped out for free.  
   
“I don’t steal from my workplace,” Tim said sourly, sliding in his dollar and scowling when the machine pushed it back out.  
   
“Is that so, McLiar?  I _know_ you took an NCIS-issued pen yesterday.  I saw you put it in your pocket and take it home with you.  And I know it’s one of ours because you only buy the clicky-clicky pens and that one had a cap.  And you always write in _black_ ink, but this one was one of those cheap blue ones- ”  
   
“Are you stalking me?” Tim asked, glancing sideways at Tony as he continued to try and get the machine to take his dollar.  
   
Tony rolled his eyes and stepped around Tim, grabbing the chocolate bar and sitting at one of the tables.  He propped his feet up and bit into his chocolate as he watched Tim.  “You know, if you just _ask_ , I have a really nice dollar bill in my wallet I’d gladly let you have,” Tony said.  “Actually, Probie, don't you usually iron your money?  What’s with the wrinkly dollar?  That’s not like you.  Is something going on at home?”  
   
“I don’t _iron my money_ ,” Tim said, turning to Tony with a hand on his hip.  “Why would you think I iron my money?”  He’d clearly given up on his dollar bill, and it was hanging loosely from the machine, tattered edges rustling in the light breeze of the air conditioner.   
   
“It’s always really crisp,” Tony said, only it came out more like “sallwuhsrullkuhp” since his mouth was full of chocolate, and Tim looked at him in disgust.  
   
“Are you sure you’re not twelve?” Tim asked.  
   
Tony shrugged, grinning and getting to his feet with a put-upon sigh.  He pulled his wallet out and handed Tim a dollar bill, and Tim snatched it quickly but still regarded Tony with suspicion before he turned back to the vending machine.  He pulled his own dollar out of the machine and went to hand it to Tony, but Tony put up both hands and shook his head as he sat back down.  
   
“No way,” he said.  “I don’t want _that_.  That’s an insult.  Do you normally trade your money in at the bank for fresh singles or something?  Where’d this one even come – oh.  _Oh_.  I didn’t think-”  
   
Tim punched in a few numbers and then turned to Tony.  “Didn’t think _what_?” he asked as the vending machine whirred into motion.  
   
“I knew your book money went bad with the economy, but I didn’t think it would come to this.  You can _talk_ to me if you’re in trouble, you know.  Are you really stripping now?  I mean, is that why you lost all that weight?”  
   
Tim just blinked at Tony, mouth partly open, and thanked whoever the _fuck_ was looking out for him that there was no one else in the break room.  “Why would you think-”  
   
“It makes sense,” Tony said reasonably, remembering the exact reason he’d been obsessing over Tim the past few days.  
   
Tim bent down and slowly pulled out a package of Nutter Butters, and then stood next to the machine, watching Tony with suspicion.  “How does that even make sense at _all_?” he asked.  
   
Tony smiled, and something about the way his eyes narrowed made him seem a bit dangerous, and Tim stepped back a bit, clutching his Nutter Butters.   
   
“It does,” Tony said.  “And I’d love to discuss this with you further, McGoo.  But not here.”  
   
“Well then I guess we’ll never discuss it again because I-”  
   
“McGee,” Tony interrupted, voice sharp like he was about to give Tim a serious command out in the field.  “You will come to my apartment.  Tonight.”  
   
Tim looked at Tony like he was crazy.  “Why would I come to your apartment tonight?”  
   
“Be _cause_ ,” Tony said impatiently.  “Even before I found out you’re a stripper I wanted you to come over,” he added.  “It’s why I followed you in here.  There’s something very important I need to discuss with you.”  
   
“I’m not – Tony, I’m not a fucking stripper!” Tim said, and then flushed when Barbara from Accounting walked through the door, stopped in surprise, and then turned around and left.  
   
“Of course not,” Tony said, giving Tim a disbelieving look and ignoring Barbara’s brief appearance and the subsequent panic that spread on Tim’s face.  “It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” he added.  “Anyway, you have to come over tonight.  It’s really important.”  
   
“Is this why you’ve been staring at me all week?” Tim asked sourly.   
   
“I haven’t - ”  
   
“Tony, I _caught_ you.  More than once.  And stared back.  And you _giggled_ ,” Tim pointed out.  
   
“I don’t giggle!” Tony said, sitting up straight and puffing up his chest.  “I’m a _man_!”  
   
“Right,” Tim said, shaking his head and turning away.   
   
“Wait!” Tony said, scrambling to his feet.  He caught up to Tim and put a hand on his shoulder, turning him around to face him.  “Come over.  It’s important,” he said, his face serious because he’d been planning this _all week_ , dammit, and he wasn’t gonna let Tim’s new side-job ruin that for him.  
   
“If I do, will you stop staring at me?” Tim asked.  
   
“Probably not,” Tony admitted.  “You’re just, you know, kind of a mystery.  First I find out you like to wear jackets with suede elbows and then I find out you like to write – on a _typewriter_ – and if that isn’t crazy enough, then I find out you’re a bestselling novelist, and let’s face it, Probie, that’s a surprising thing to learn – and then I find out you like to use women’s moisturizer – and let’s face _that_ one, McFeminineGlow, that’s _not_ a surprise – and then I meet your _grandmother_ , and now I’m finding out all these crazy new things and I’m just trying to figure you out.  I mean, what am I gonna find out next?  That you’re a _stripper_?  Oh, wait, I just-”  
   
“Tony,” Tim interrupted, voice low.  “For the last time, I am _not_ a stripper.  And that lotion was recommended by a _doctor_.”  
   
“Semantics,” Tony said with a dismissive wave of his hand, popping the rest of the chocolate into his mouth and tossing the wrapper into the garbage can.  
   
“That’s not semantics,” Tim pointed out.  “Semantics is the study of-”  
   
“Semantics,” Tony said firmly. “Anyway, you’re coming over, right?”  
   
Tim sighed.  “Fine.  But call me stripper one more time and I’ll report your chocolate stealing habit to Vance.”  
   
“You wouldn’t!” Tony gasped.  “That’s – Probie, that goes against the unwritten moral code of mankind!  That goes against everything we _stand_ for -”  
   
“Then don’t mention it again,” Tim said with a smirk.  
   
Tony didn’t know why, but he found himself nodding and agreeing because something about Tim’s attitude had him scrambling to obey, and he kind of liked it.  And as Tim turned around and headed back out to the bullpen, crinkling the wrapper of his Nutter Butter in that infuriating way of his, Tony grinned in anticipation.  Tonight was the night.  
   
\--  
   
 Somehow, when Tim texted Tony in his stupid perfect grammar and perfect punctuation and said, “Hi, Tony.  I’m leaving now.  I’ll be there soon,” the anticipation Tony had felt earlier drained out of him and he was left wide-eyed and slightly panicked.   
   
This had all seemed like the perfect plan when he’d thought of it a few days prior, and now he was left with sweaty palms and an old cardboard box sitting in his living room that could make for a really serious disaster.   
   
He shoved the box to the side a bit, so that it was all the way in the corner, and put a couple DVDs on top so that it looked like it was just a box of stuff that he’d been too lazy to take care of, and then if things went south with Tim, he just wouldn’t bring it out; he’d just pretend there was nothing special about the box or what was in it and that it had absolutely nothing to do with why he’d been staring at Tim for the entire fucking _week_.  
   
He looked at the box critically and then set one more DVD on top, leaned back to stare at it again, and then shifted the DVD cases so it looked like he’d haphazardly put them there.  He wished he could somehow settle a little dust on top so it looked like they’d been there a while, but that wasn’t really practical and he was pretty sure Tim was probably allergic, anyway.   
   
When Tim buzzed, he jumped and then frantically pressed the button to unlock the door, then went back and shifted the DVD cases one more time, giving them a worried once-over before swiping his clammy palms on his jeans and fixing his hair.   
   
He waited a moment when Tim knocked, so it didn’t look like he was sitting around _waiting_ for him or anything, and then headed over, making some extra noise so it sounded like he was in the middle of something.  He pulled the door open and grinned at Tim, who was standing outside the door, hands shoved into his pockets.  He looked kind of angry.  
   
“Why the long face, McPouty?” Tony asked, pulling the door open for Tim.   
   
Tim stepped inside and then watched as Tony closed the door, frowning the whole time.  “This is really suspicious,” he said.  
   
“Suspicious?” Tony asked, confused. “Why is this _suspicious_?”  
   
“You've been staring at me all week and you said you had something really important to talk about, and knowing you, it’s probably that you think I changed shampoo brands and you’re really concerned,” Tim said.  “ _Or_ , you’re going to make fun of me about something, as usual-”  
   
“Hey,” Tony said uncomfortably.  “I didn’t call you here to make fun of you.  You’re my friend.”  
   
Tim seemed surprised by Tony’s sudden serious attitude, and Tony hadn’t _meant_ to get serious, but that was kind of a touchy subject for him.  He headed into the kitchen, going straight to the fridge.  “Want a beer?” he called as he pulled open the door.   
   
“Yeah, okay,” Tim replied as he followed Tony.  
   
“Here you go,” Tony said, pulling two out and handing one to Tim.  He pulled out his keys and fumbled with them for a second before finding his bottle opener and popping the cap off his beer.   
   
“Call out of work tonight?” Tony asked, handing Tim his keychain before heading towards the living room.  “I bet Friday’s a good night-”  
   
“Tony, I’m not a fucking stripper,” Tim said.  He sounded extra grouchy, and Tony remembered him saying he thought Tony was just gonna make fun of him all night, and Tony suddenly felt guilty.  He sat on the couch and gestured for Tim to sit next to him.  
   
“I know you’re not a stripper,” Tony said.  “We don’t have enough nights off for you to hold down that kind of work.”  
   
“You think that’s the only reason-”  
   
“Well, I mean, you _could_ be if you wanted,” Tony pointed out.  “You’ve been going to the gym a lot, you know.”  
   
“Yeah, I know,” Tim said petulantly.  “I’m the one going.”  
   
Tony grinned.  “I didn’t call you over to make fun of you, anyway.  I wouldn’t do that.”  
   
“You’ve reformed after apologizing to Stinky Jon?” Tim asked with a wry smile.  
   
The grin fell off Tony’s face, and he looked down at his beer, thumb sliding over the glass for a moment, pushing condensation around.  “That, uh-”  
   
“Didn’t go so well?” Tim asked. There was an undercurrent of sympathy in his voice that Tony couldn't understand.  
   
“Wouldn’t you _want_ it to go badly?” Tony asked, turning to look at Tim.  
   
“Why would I want _that_?” Tim asked in confusion.  
   
“I mean, if someone who made fun of _you_ apologized, wouldn’t you want to, I don’t know, make them feel bad?”  
   
Tim frowned. “Not really.  What happened with him, anyway?  I expected you to come in and gloat about it.”  
   
Tony rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.  This was _not_ why he’d invited Tim over, and it was really putting a damper on things, but he supposed he at least owed him the truth, as uncomfortable as it was.  
   
“Turns out I remembered things wrong,” Tony said vaguely.  “It was a long time ago, you know?”  
   
“So, what, did you do something else to him, too?   Something worse?”  
   
Even though it was an appropriate question, given the circumstances, Tony winced.  “No,” Tony said.  “Nothing like that.  It’s just – ah, this is kind of awkward,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest.  “And it’s not why I invited you over.  But I guess it’s important.”  
   
His hands were clammy again, and Tim was looking at him in confusion, so Tony looked Tim in the face so his honesty was evident, and even though it felt like his heart was lodged somewhere in his throat, he spoke.  “I guess I – I don’t know, I guess I didn’t really want to remember it or something so I just, just _changed_ things, but it turns out – turns out _I_ was the one strung up on the flagpole and Stinky Jon was the one doing the stringing.”  
   
Tony looked away when he was done speaking and took a long pull of beer because he didn’t want to see the look on Tim’s face that said his senior field agent was actually a completely crazy failure who was probably more tormented as a kid than even Tim himself was, and so he was totally unprepared for the soft touch on his wrist a moment later, and when he turned back, Tim was looking at him.   
   
“I’m sorry,” Tim said earnestly.  It wasn’t pitying or judgmental; it was just honest.  “I really am.  That’s – I had no idea it was like that for you.”  
   
Tony laughed, but it was _dark_ , and it didn’t sound right.  “That’s okay,” he said.  “Neither did I.”  
   
Tim wrapped his hand around Tony’s wrist and squeezed for a moment, then pulled his hand away.  “Do you…do you want to talk about it?” Tim asked, and he sounded so sincere that for a moment Tony did, but he shook his head instead, frowning.  
   
“Nah,” he said.  “It’s in the past.  Maybe one day,” he added.   
   
They were quiet for a moment, and Tony wished he’d never thought of Stinky Jon in the first place because the excitement he’d felt about Tim coming over had diminished, and he peeked at the box for a moment, internally berating himself for not adding one more DVD case to the pile for more authenticity.   
   
“Hey,” Tim said.  “I got off work to come over here.  Are you just gonna mope?”  
   
Tony grinned, eternally grateful for Tim’s attempts to get past the awkwardness of the moment.  “So you _do_ normally strip on Friday nights?”  
   
Tim rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, I do,” he said, voice flat.   
   
“I knew it!” Tony said triumphantly, taking another long sip of beer and then setting the bottle down.   
   
“So what’s so important you couldn’t discuss it at work?” Tim asked, settling into the couch and doing his best to bring the conversation back to somewhere slightly close to normal.  
   
Tony grinned.  “Your grandmother,” he said.  
   
“Penny?” Tim asked.  “You’ve been staring at me all week because of _Penny_?”  
   
Tony’s grin widened.  “Well, it’s not so much _her_ , although she _was_ a pretty interesting woman.  It’s more something she _said_.”  
   
“Something she…” Tim trailed off for a moment, thoughtful, and then looked at Tony with wide eyes.  “Is this about the damn red shoes?”  
   
“ _Pumps_ ,” Tony corrected gleefully.  “Red _pumps_.”  
   
Tim eyed Tony for a moment.  “I don’t think I like the look on your face.”  
   
“What look is that?” Tony asked, doing his best to switch it over to “innocent.”  
   
“It’s a cross between the one that means you’re really excited about something and you’re about to open your mouth and not stop talking for at least an hour and the one that means you’ve given something a lot of thought.”  Tim paused for a second, still eyeing Tony.  “And it also looks like you’re kind of nervous, which is never a good sign,” he added.  
   
Tony looked at Tim, feeling both impressed and distrustful.  “And what does my face say right now?” he challenged.  
   
“I don’t think you want to know, Tony,” Tim said, taking a swig of his beer.  
   
“I _do_ want to know!  Since when do you study my facial expressions?”  
   
“You don’t have that many,” Tim pointed out.  
   
Tony’s jaw dropped, but before he could defend himself, Tim kept talking.  
   
“Oh look, there’s outraged shock and disbelief.”  
   
Tony blinked because that was actually exactly what he was trying to portray, and he grabbed his beer again, taking a long pull and giving Tim a sideways glance.  “That’s creepy,” Tony finally said.  “And weird,” he added for good measure.  
   
“Your face says it’s interesting and you don’t want me to know how intrigued you are,” Tim said.  
   
“Stop showing off, McPsychic,” Tony complained.   
   
“Okay,” Tim said.  “So why’d you tell me to come over?”  
   
Tony couldn’t help it; his eyes darted to the box in the corner and then back to Tim, and of course Tim noticed, and he glanced at the box curiously.  “What’s in there?”  
   
“Well,” Tony said, sitting up a bit straight and downing the rest of his beer.  “When I heard about little Timmy’s love of red pumps, it made me remember that _I_ happen to own a pair.  In your size.”  
   
When Tim didn’t say anything, Tony kept talking.  “Ah, see, your face right now tells me that you’re really freaked out that I happen to have a pair of red pumps in your size and that you’re-”  
   
“How about that I don’t buy that you _happen_ to have a pair of red pumps in my size?  There’s no such thing as coincidences.”  
   
“One,” Tony said, holding up one finger.  “You and I are the same shoe size, Timmy, or did you forget that?  And two,” he added, holding up a second finger.  “This is _not_ a coincidence.”  
   
Tim’s brows rose and he looked at Tony incredulously.  “Oh my God,” he said.  “Are you – are you a drag queen? Did you think that because – oh my God.  Oh my God.”  
   
Tony rolled his eyes.  “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he said dismissively.  “I’m not a drag queen.  And between the two of us, you’d obviously make the better one.  Your lips are much fuller and you have a less angular jaw and you don’t have the chiseled good looks that I happen to possess.”  He ignored Tim’s choke of outrage and kept talking.  “Anyway, back in the good old days at Ohio State – and _yes_ , Timmy, my good old days at Ohio State did actually happen – we used to have this night once a year where we dressed in drag at the frat house.  The girls loved it.”  
   
Tim looked at him and disbelief was clear on his face.  “The girls loved it?”  
   
Tony nodded.  “Yes,” he said.  “But it was _serious_.  It wasn’t just putting on a dress and a wig and calling it drag.  We’d get some of the sorority girls to help us with make-up and everything and we had a really serious competition.  Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”  
   
“Did you win?” Tim asked, and it almost sounded like he didn’t want to know the answer.  
   
“No,” Tony admitted.  “I came in fourth once, though.”  
   
“Why did you have a _drag competition_ in your _frat_?  Aren’t you supposed to be all manly when you’re in a frat?” Tim asked, still eyeing Tony with distrust.  
   
“It takes a true man to be a woman,” Tony said sagely.  
   
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Tim said.  
   
“It _does_ , oh ye of little faith.  It does.”  
   
“So is that why you called me over?  To tell me that you’re a drag queen?”  
   
“I’m not a drag queen!” Tony insisted.  “I just thought you might want to wear my shoes.”   
   
“I think you mean _pumps_ ,” Tim said with a scowl.  
   
“Ah, yes, pumps,” Tony said.  “Wanna wear ‘em?”  
   
Tony wasn’t sure why it felt so important to him for Tim to wear the damn shoes, and he wasn’t really sure why he even _had_ them anymore, except for the fact that they cost a lot of money at the time, and he couldn’t believe that he was actually sitting there discussing it with Tim, but that had been his _plan_ after all, even if he _was_ beginning to re-think it.  
   
“Why would I want to wear them?” Tim asked.  “I wore them when I was a _kid_ , Tony, not now.”  
   
Tony frowned, beginning to feel a bit off balance because he wasn’t really sure why that offended him, but it _did_.  
   
“Do you still wear them?” Tim asked a moment later.  
   
“No!” Tony said hurriedly.  “They’ve just been sitting in my closet and then your grandma said you liked red pumps.”  He didn’t mean to sound so dejected, really, and he wasn’t sure what his problem was.  The worst part was that he just _knew_ Tim could tell.  
   
“So, you invited me over because you want me to wear your red pumps,” Tim said, sounding like he didn’t quite get it.  
   
Tony nodded, avoiding Tim’s eyes, because suddenly his plan seemed really strange, even to _him_ , but then he blinked and turned back to Tim with a grin.  “I just thought you’d want to relive the glory days,” he said.  “Back when you could express yourself fully,” he added, and then gave himself a mental pat-on-the-back for making this into some kind of a scenario where Tony was _not_ a creepy old man who kept a pair of red pumps in his closet to lure in probationary officers and then make them walk around his apartment wearing them.  That was _not_ what his plan was about, dammit!  
   
“Tony,” Tim said gently.  “I don’t normally wear heels.”  
   
“Neither do I,” Tony said with a frown, looking anywhere but McGee.  
   
“But you have a pair in your closet.”  
   
“Actually, they’re in my living room.”  
   
“Right,” Tim said.  “They’re in your living room.  Because you took them out of your closet.”  
   
“Yeah,” Tony said.  “Your point, Probie?”  
   
“I’m getting there,” Tim said.  “You put your _red pumps_ in the living room and put DVDs on top of them so they’ll look like they’re a natural part of this room, which they’re _not_ -”  
   
“I didn’t!” Tony protested, shaking his head.  “The DVDs were _there_ -”  
   
“Tony,” McGee said.  “They weren’t.”  
   
Tony scowled, and waved a hand for McGee to keep talking, even though he was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear it.  
   
“Anyway, you put them in here and invited me over and ever since Penny mentioned them, you’ve been obsessing and staring at me because for some weird reason, you want to see me wearing them,” Tim said.  
   
“Um,” Tony said.  “Yeah, that sounds about right.”  
   
“And now you’re embarrassed because it sounds much better in your head than out loud,” Tim added.  
   
“Stop!” Tony said.  “Stop doing that!”  
   
“Doing what?” Tim asked.   
   
“Mind reading!” Tony said.   
   
“Yours is kind of easy to read,” Tim said.  “Why exactly do you want to see me in your red pumps?”  
   
Tony frowned, finally looking at Tim.  “I don’t _know_ , okay?  I just thought…I just thought…I don’t _know_.  This was a bad idea.  You can leave now and we can pretend this never happened on Monday.  I’ll let you use my Mighty Mouse stapler for a week if you never, ever bring it up again.”  
   
Tim shook his head.  “Did you think I’d look good in them?” he asked curiously.  
   
Tony blinked, because while that seemed like an obvious question, it took him by surprise, and so did the immediate excitement that flooded him at the idea.  “Yeah,” he said, embarrassment coloring his voice.  
   
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Tim said gently.  “It’s okay.”  
   
“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” Tony said.  “I’m pretty sure it’s really fucked up that I just invited you here because I wanted you to wear a pair of fucking red high heels that I happen to _own_.”  
   
Tony scrubbed a hand over his face and then suddenly, out of nowhere, Tim was hugging him, and Tony froze.   
   
“Why are you hugging me?” Tony asked uncomfortably, body stiff.   
   
“You need one,” Tim said.  “Relax.”  
   
Tony blinked for a moment, ashamed that he’d had such a reaction when Tim merely hugged him, and then when Tim tightened his hold a bit, Tony found himself relaxing and hugging Tim back because suddenly it hit him that he was really fucking confused and a hug seemed like a good idea, and with his eyes closed and his face buried in Tim’s shoulder and his forehead brushing against Tim’s neck, it suddenly hit him that maybe _this_ , this moment of closeness and truth and reality, was _exactly_ why he’d invited Tim over in the first place, even if he hadn’t recognized that at the time, and he found himself blinking fast to keep himself together because when he really thought about it, he realized that he was really, really good at lying to himself.  
   
He couldn’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed when he pulled away a moment later and his eyes were suspiciously wet because he knew there was no sense in hiding it; McGee _knew_ him, and it was about more than just reading a facial expression.  It was about reading a facial expression and knowing exactly _why_ that expression was there, and Tony had a feeling McGee knew a few hard truths that Tony wasn’t sure he was ready to face.  
   
“Maybe your invitation was about more than a pair of shoes,” Tim said gently.   
   
The urge to babble incessantly about completely nonsensical things was hitting him hard, but Tony forced himself to just nod, swallowing hard.  It was time to be honest.  
   
“Maybe when Penny was talking about me wearing those shoes and everything you thought we could relate,” Tim continued.  
   
Tony swallowed again, blinking fast.  “Relate?” he asked, not liking how hoarse his voice sounded.  
   
Tim nodded.  “Why’d you keep those shoes for so long, Tony?  You could’ve thrown them away.”  
   
Tony didn’t like where this was going.  He didn’t like it at all, but he knew they needed to go there.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “I don't fucking know.”  
   
“Did you want to wear them again?”  
   
Tony shook his head.  “No,” he said, and it was honest.  He _didn’t_ want to wear them again.  
   
“But maybe they represent something for you,” McGee prodded.  
   
“Since when are you a fucking shrink,” Tony said, because as much as he wanted to be honest for once, this was getting out of control.  
   
“Maybe you thought because I liked to wear women’s shoes and play with glitter that I’m gay, and maybe something in you responded to that because maybe you think you are, too,” Tim said, and he was looking at Tony with such an earnest, caring expression that Tony felt his heart twist.   
   
“Are you?” Tony asked after a pause, voice raspy and harsh in the silence of his apartment.  
   
Tim was quiet for a moment, and he didn’t look away from Tony.  The air felt heavy and oppressive and it seemed like nothing would happen, and then Tim gave a tiny nod of his head.  “There were girls,” Tim said.  “But it never seemed to work out.  I always just latched onto any girl that showed interest because I just – I wanted it to work.  But it didn’t.”  
   
Tony felt overwhelmed and he wasn’t sure how to respond because his heart was twisting and his hands felt clammy again, and faced with Tim’s truth, he bit his lip and tried to make sense of the emotions that were crashing over him about his _own_ , whatever it was, and then Tim smiled at him, a real, soft smile.  
   
“It’s okay, Tony,” he said.  “Whether you are or aren’t,” he added. “It’s okay.”  
   
“Um,” Tony said, voice hoarse again, wondering when Timothy Fucking McGee became the voice of reason in his life.  “I think it’s ‘are.’  I mean, I _are_ \- _am_ , and it’s – it’s _am_.  I mean, I am.”  
   
Tony had no idea why his hands were shaking and he suddenly lost his ability to use the English language, and he found himself swallowing again, blinking fast, and then Tim was hugging him for the second time, and that time Tony hugged back straightaway, fingers curling into Tim’s shirt.   
   
It was strange – on one hand, he felt _light_ , as if a weight had been lifted, but on the other hand, another was settling in because with realization came, well, _realization_ , and he let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding and sank against Tim, relieved when Tim’s arms tightened around him.   
   
He hadn’t imagined it coming to this when he’d thought of his crazy plan to invite Tim over, but then, he hadn’t really thought beyond the idea of Tim wearing the damn red pumps in the first place, and he realized that was probably the problem.  He just didn’t _think_.  _Ever_.  
   
He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, air coming and going in shaky gasps, and he was grateful for Tim’s long fingers on his back, and Tim’s arms holding him in place, and he enjoyed it for a moment.  But then, as much as he didn’t want to, he pulled away, wiping at his eyes and looking at Tim.  He felt completely vulnerable and exposed and raw and, okay, maybe a little bit scared, but Tim just smiled at him and reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing the base of his neck, and Tony shivered, thinking that it felt better than any girl’s hand ever felt.  Tim’s smile widened.   
   
“Are you reading my face again?” Tony asked suspiciously, voice hoarse.   
   
“I can’t help it,” Tim said fondly.   
   
“McPsychic,” Tony said again, mostly because it made him feel just a tiny bit more grounded to call Tim some kind of nickname.  
   
“Did you know?” Tim asked.  “Before this, I mean.  Did you know that you like men?”  
   
“Yeah,” Tony said before he could stop himself.  “I mean, maybe I didn’t always want to admit it, but I knew.  Deep down, I knew.”  His hands felt shaky again, and he couldn’t believe he was actually _talking_ about this, because half the time, he didn’t even let himself _think_ about this.  “You’ve known, too?”  
   
Tim nodded.  “It’s why I haven’t talked to my father in seven years,” he said.  
   
Tony frowned.  “And you never said anything?”  
   
“It never seemed like the right time,” he replied.  “It’s just…I didn’t want that to happen again with _you_ guys because I really love NCIS.”  
   
Tony shook his head.  “It wouldn’t have happened that way,” he said, heart beating fast.  “We would’ve-”  
   
“Tony,” Tim interrupted gently.  “You say that now because for whatever reason, you’ve had some kind of crazy life-changing moment and you’re trying to do right, but I don’t think you would’ve been ready to hear it back then, especially if you were in such denial about yourself.”  
   
Tony leaned back a bit and eyed Tim speculatively.  “When’d you get so good at people, McShutIn?”  
   
Tim rolled his eyes.  “I’m not a shut in and I never have been,” he complained, but Tony could see a hint of a smile tugging at Tim’s mouth, and he grinned because Tim wasn’t the only one would who could see through a facial expression.  
   
Something about that hint of a smile pulled at him, and without really giving it much thought, Tony leaned forward until his face was inches from Tim’s, until their lips were just a breath apart, and then he paused, eyes flickering between Tim’s mouth and Tim’s eyes and then his mouth again, and then when Tim let his eyes fall half-shut, Tony closed the distance between them until their lips were touching, gently at first, just the barest brush of skin, and then with a bit more intent, their mouths slid together.  He savored the feeling of Tim’s lips against his own, his heart beating fast, and let his hand slide around to cradle Tim’s head, and when he pulled away a moment later, he felt a rush of excitement crash through him because that _actually happened_ , and he found himself grinning at Tim like an idiot.  
   
His grin faded a bit, though, when Tim looked at him _very seriously_.  
   
“I know what you’re thinking,” Tony said, heart still beating fast.  He smiled again, and he found it surprisingly easy to do so.  It wasn’t the usual ear-splitting grin, or the sheepish smile when he did something wrong, or the amused twitch of his lips when he heard a good dirty joke – it was a real, genuine smile because he felt real, genuine happiness.  “I know you think I’m just confused or something, and I think – I think I _am_ , but not about _you_ , because you – well, you’re _you_ , you know, and you just – it’s not that -”  
   
When Tim shut him up with a kiss, Tony was grateful because he wasn’t really sure where he was going with that one, and his gratefulness melted into something _else_ when Tim’s tongue pressed against his, and he couldn’t remember a kiss ever feeling that incandescently good.  
   
When they pulled apart that time, Tim pressed a finger against Tony’s lips and shook his head, and Tony smiled against Tim’s skin, resisting the urge to bite the tip of his finger because he wasn’t ready for Tim to tell him what _that_ meant.  
   
“I want you to know something,” Tim said, and since Tony couldn’t reply, he shrugged and smiled instead, resisting the urge to giggle (even though he definitely _did not giggle_ since he was a _man_ ), and he really wished Tim would move his finger so he could concentrate.  
   
“If we start this, I’ll take it seriously,” Tim said.  “We can’t fuck this up, Tony.”  
   
The smile slid from Tony’s lips and he nodded, understanding what Tim was saying.  
   
“Rule 12 exists for a reason,” Tim continued.  “And I can’t – I don’t want Gibbs to stop talking to me, too.”  
   
Tony reached up and grabbed Tim’s hand, pulling it down from his mouth and holding it in his.  “I know,” he said.  “I’ve wasted enough time in my life messing around, Tim, I get it.”  
   
When Tim kissed him again, Tony grinned.  
   
“Hey, just one thing,” he said, pulling away from Tim.  “It’s important.”  
   
“What?” Tim asked curiously.  
   
“Gotta stop stripping.  I don’t share.”  
   
“For the last time, Tony, I'm not a fucking-”  
   
With great pleasure, Tony shut Tim up with a kiss, and thought maybe his red-pump-plan worked out after all.


End file.
